


_A Friend in Need

by glenarvon



Series: _Brilliancy [4]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gangsters, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenarvon/pseuds/glenarvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend in need, as they say...</p>
            </blockquote>





	_A Friend in Need

**Author's Note:**

> **Fun fact:** So far, I've been meeting my daily word count to make the deadline for Brilliancy. I really want this to be cut and dry before Watch_Dogs 2 ruins everything. 
> 
> **Recurring characters** : Tighe appeared in _Urban Jungle_ and _Black Sheep_ , he used to be a friend of Aiden. Drago is mentioned in _Urban Jungle_ and _Dogtown_ as the leader of the Dead Men Walking, the gang Aiden was a member of as a teenager

[this takes place in spring 1997]

* * *

The incessant ringing of the phone floated through the stylish, but untidy space of Aiden's slightly too expensive loft apartment. Midday sun filtered through the blinds on the roof windows, painted glaringly bright lines on the dusty floor and the strewn clothing.

The phone kept ringing, merciless, seemed to somehow increase its volume even though it lacked the capability for such a thing.

Aiden rolled to his back, managed to come to lie with a sunbeam cutting right across his eyes. He groaned, threw an arm over his face and tried to go back to sleep _anyway._ Anyone dumb enough to call him this early only had themselves to blame and besides, they'd soon give up. Indeed, in his sleep-fogged mind it was slightly puzzling that this hadn't already happened.

He groaned again, invested some energy to roll himself out from under the sunbeam and came to lie on his stomach, face pressed into the cool smoothness of the satin sheets. After another moment, he blindly fished for a loose corner of the sheet to wrap around his ears until the phone finally, blessedly, ceased its ringing.

The new quiet was only broken by the distant humming of the city outside the window, filtered music drifting through the floor from the apartment below, a chopper in the air so far away only a gust of wind sometimes advertised its existence. Aiden drifted back to sleep with the smug satisfaction of someone used to set his own hours as he damn well pleased.

Far too soon, the ringing started up again.

He still hadn't made up his mind if he wanted to use an answering machine or not. It'd be useful, not least for business, especially because he didn't keep regular hours. However, the answering machine tape might become evidence against him. Or it could provide him with ammunition against someone else… and he just didn't know if it was worth the risk.

Aiden tucked the sheet tighter around his ears, just to see if it'd work, but eventually just dropped his hands away and lay unmoving while his mind processed the fact that the phone wasn't going to _stop_ and that he was actually awake, so he might as well deal with it.

He liked to think that if this was serious, he'd come off the bed like a rattlesnake. He'd found a new gym and a new sparring partner and he knew he could do this sort of thing. It was, however, not serious, it was just a ringing phone. His legs got tangled in the sheets and he stumbled awkwardly after he'd rolled off the side of the bed, couldn't quite figure out how to get rid of the sheet for a second, hopped on one leg until he'd finally struggled free.

In the meantime, the caller hadn't given up.

He padded across the room to where the phone was mounted on a pillar by the kitchenette.

"Hgn," he mumbled as he picked it up. He took two steps forward to the bar counter and the bowl there. He found a handful of small pieces of potato chips at the bottom, stuffed them into his mouth, but grimaced at how sloppy they'd become.

_"Oh god Aiden for fuck's sake! Thank god! I need help!"_

Aiden blinked a few times, brain slowly kicking into gear. "Tighe?"

_"Oh god! Oh shit. Fuck. Oh god, Aiden, I fucked up. I fucked it up so bad! I don't know what to do!"_

"How about you calm down?" Aiden suggested vacantly. He took a few steps to the side, opened the fridge and peered inside. There wasn't much in the way of food, he liked to order out because it was easier and tasted better and he had more important things to do than dishes.

When he'd moved out, his mother had been adamant to stoke his fridge, but their relationship had been deteriorating to the point where he'd rather not let her see this place, she'd want to know how he paid for it. Or she might not ask at all, just assume she knew and that'd just be worse.

_"It's bad!"_ Tighe whined. _"I… you've got to help me! You know what to do, right?"_

Aiden took a can of coke, stepped out of the cold of the fridge and shoved it closed with his shoulder.

"What happened?"

_"I stole a car!"_

Aiden shrugged. He made his way back to the couch, straining the phone cord to capacity. He shoved a pile of clothes aside and threw himself down, settled his legs up on the table in front of him. An empty pizza carton toppled over the side and to the floor.

"So?" he asked. "You need a buyer? I don't do cars, but…"

_"No! I need to give it back!"_

The coke hissed and bubbled up around his fingers as he opened it, splashed a few cold drops down his chest and he jerked up to stop the whole thing from spilling over him.

"Why would you do that?"

_"Because I have to! Or I'm toast! Can you stop cracking jokes at the idiot and help me? I know I'm a deadbeat sellout, okay?"_

Aiden sighed, sipped carefully from the coke and said, "Look, I just woke up, just start at the beginning, yeah? I'm sure that'd make it easier for me to understand."

It took a moment until Tighe collected himself. He was breathing heavily into the phone, ran ragged by his own panic.

_"I stole this car,"_ he started. _"It was really just a junker, you know? No one cares, no cops, right? I got this guy at the junkyard. But this car… man, I don't know. I always clean out the glove compartment and the trunk, like, maybe there's something useful in there and… there was this plastic bag full of cash! I counted it, it's more than thirty grant."_

"Drug money," Aiden guessed. "Maybe insurance money."

_"I don't know! I don't care!"_ Tighe snapped. _"I wanted to take the car back where I found it, but… they'll know and maybe they're waiting for me. Shit, I don't want any trouble."_

"Do you know whose money it is?"

_"No… but it's Dead Man Walking territory,"_ Tighe said.

Aiden heard him hesitate, aware that Aiden wasn't particularly keen on messing with Dead Man business. Since moving away from Bridgeport, he'd made it a point to keep his distance and in turn, the Dead Man pretended he didn't exist, either.

Aiden took another sip off the coke. The sugar and caffeine burned away the last remnants of drowsiness.

"Sounds like a mess," Aiden observed.

_"Oh really?"_ Tighe sneered. _"What makes you think that?"_

He huffed, paused for a moment, then added, _"Well? You gonna help or not?_

Aiden dropped his head back, pushed the coke against his cheek, stared at the exposed beams above him, grains of dust dancing lazily in the streaks of sunlight. Technically, he needed a paying job, maybe a driving gig, something simple that brought in some quick bucks with little risk. Messing with Dead Men… and honestly, the only reason Tighe was involved in stealing junkers was because it was the best he could do these days, half his mind knocked out more or less permanently by his drug habit.

"You shooting?" Aiden asked.

_"What? No!"_ Tighe announced, then quieter, _"Not right now… It's hard, you know. I'm getting it under control."_ He paused. _"What's that got to do with anything?"_

Aiden grunted, rolled the coke slowly back and forth. He pulled a face and sighed. "Where are you? With the car?"

_"I parked it under a bridge in Brandon Docks, no one's going to find it there. I'm staying with Takisha, but she wants me out of here. I don't know if I can go home… what if they know it's me?"_

"If they knew it was you, they'd be able to find you at _Takisha's_ ," Aiden assured him. It was the first place anyone would look for Tighe. Takisha was his sometimes dealer and on/off girlfriend for the last two years. Everyone knew that.

"Stay there, I'll come pick you up."

_"God, thank you,"_ Tighe said, breathing a loud sigh of relief.

* * *

Later, Aiden parked the car across the street from a karaoke bar, glanced around and at Tighe slouched in the passenger seat. Tighe looked back at him from wide eyes, unusually quiet since Aiden had picked him up.

Aiden had stuffed the money, plastic bag and all, into a duffel-bag, currently strapped down behind him, half-hidden under Aiden's leather jacket. It was safer than leaving it in the junker, where just some other junkie could come and pick it up. Tighe had tentatively suggested that it'd be a good idea to just let it happen, let the money be someone else's problem, but it wasn't clear if Tighe wasn't on the radar already.

"Do you… think we could keep it, maybe?" Tighe asked when Aiden made no move.

Aiden snapped his head around to stare at him wordlessly.

Tighe threw his hands up. "Just a thought!" he said. "I thought I'd say it, because… well… it's there, right?"

Aiden shook his head slowly, "Are you prepared to watch your back for the rest of your life? For a handful of bucks?"

"Handful of bucks!" Tighe said. "That's more money than I've ever seen in one place."

His gaze darted away sullenly and he muttered, "Maybe you do, or something."

"T…" Aiden sighed. "I told you I could get you jobs. Paying jobs. _Well-_ paying jobs. But you've got to be solid for that."

Tighe said nothing, slipped an inch further down in his seat and hoisted his knee up against the door, grumbling inaudible to himself.

Eventually, Aiden said, "Wait here."

He got out of the car and strode across the street to the bar. Even in bright daylight, the red light from the sign above the door spilled an ominous glow through the open door and into the murky space of the bar beyond. The stage didn't see much traffic, it stood full of surplus chairs and stacks of crates.

Some nights some drugged out of his mind gang-banger would take the stage, often with some scrambling from the bartender to get the sound system plugged in before the 'banger got annoyed and just trashed something. Only a few people were hanging around at this hour, however.

The group of youngsters hanging around by the door like scavengers near a pack of larger predator shuffled inconspicuously out of Aiden's way. They went just far enough to let him pass without brushing past him, not even a hairsbreadth more, but that was fine by him.

Aiden made his way to the bar counter, pushed his hand through his hair to get the strands out of his face, then leaned casually on the counter.

"Oh no no no," the bartender said, looking up. His face underwent a rapid change, from the smarmy smile he'd reserved for the two women he'd be talking to to fluctuating between resigned and worried. He pushed himself up and walked over, extended an accusing finger at Aiden's face.

"You're not here," he said. "I'm not seeing you here. You aren't welcome here. Drago was very clear on that. So it's really impossible that you are here."

Very calmly, Aiden settled the back of his hand against the bartender's extended finger and gently pushed until it aimed over his shoulder.

"I've got a message for Drago and the Dead Men," Aiden said, ignoring the bartender's anxiety.

The bartender's expression darkened, he withdrew his hand past Aiden's and re-aimed his finger at him.

"You should go," he said.

Aiden took his time, staring past the length of the bartender's arm, meeting his gaze. Displeasure tightened the corners of his mouth and narrowed his eyes.

"Do you need to write it down?"

The bartender huffed. "Are you deaf on top of stupid? You…"

Without warning, Aiden's arm shot forward, gripped a hold of the bartender's still extended finger, twisted it and slammed the hand down on the counter. The bartender yelped, more in confusion than actual pain as his body was forced to turn with the motion or have some delicate bones broken out of their joints.

"Son of bitch," the bartender hissed, stared up at Aiden. Some of the nearest patrons glanced over them, but none seemed particularly interested in interfering, most didn't even care to watch. It'd likely only start bothering them if they ran out of booze due to an incapacitated bartender.

"Drago," Aiden said. "Message. Are you listening?"

The bartender bared his teeth, the muscles in his arm flexed uselessly as he debated with himself whether he should try to resist or if it wasn't worth it.

"Fuck you," the bartender said and winced when Aiden applied a little more pressure on already overstrained joints.

Aiden arched his brows, pretended to consider the situation, then slowly eased up on his grip, letting his hand rest harmlessly on the sticky counter. The bartender shot him a baleful look as he picked himself back up and straightened his shirt. He cast a quick glance at the two girl's he'd been working on before, but didn't seem too happy about what he saw. He looked back at Aiden.

"It's your funeral," the bartender said. "What do you want?"

"I 'found' something," Aiden said. "One of Drago's drug pushers managed to lose sight of some thirty grant. I'm a nice man, I like to help the less fortunate, so I'm willing to give the money back. Get the message to whoever needs it, but the offer expires soon."

The bartender's brows had drawn upward during Aiden's speech.

"You got that?" Aiden asked, unimpressed.

"Dude…" the bartender started. "I have no idea what you're about."

Aiden smirked a little. "You aren't meant to," he said and, still smiling, added, "Drago already has my number."

* * *

By the time Tighe followed Aiden into his apartment, the first signs of withdrawal were making themselves felt. It wasn't bad, Tighe had his addiction under control. Well, as under control as these things were, but he wasn't using too much and too regularly, so all he got so far was a queazy feeling in his stomach and an odd feeling in his head, like he was getting a cold. Depending on his supply and money, he'd either go buy something or hole up alone and wait until the worst had passed. Neither was an option right now, but he wasn't going to tell Aiden about it, either. Aiden didn't approve and never stopped pointing out how he didn't approve. It was why Tighe didn't hang out with him more often. That and Aiden's weird schedule and his weird new friends and everything else about Aiden's weird fixer job.

Despite Tighe's low-level misgivings, Aiden's place turned out to be far too impressive to ignore.

"Fuck, Aiden," Tighe whistled.

He turned a little circle on his heels, taking it in, looking up to the highest point of the sloped roof, then traced it back down to a laden, free-standing bookshelf and the bright red couch below. A large TV and stereo occupied the wall and housed a nice collection of records. A large, heavy table served as desk and separator to the bedroom, piled with old newspapers and magazines and random bits of paper, a notebook with Aiden's fast and unreadable handwriting and the small, unobtrusive square of a closed laptop.

"And they say crime doesn't pay," Tighe added.

Aiden attempted a nonchalant shrug as he walked past behind Tighe, dropped his jacket over the back of a chair and walked to the fridge.

"I got coke," Aiden offered, peering into the fridge.

Tighe avoided the obvious coke quip, better not wake any sleeping dogs and asked, "Beer?"

Beer was supposed to be good for the stomach, right? He thought as he rifled through the records briefly, then wandered on to the bookshelf.

"Nope, staying sober on the job. Coke?"

Tighe pursed his lips at Aiden's patronising tone, but seeing his place, maybe he wasn't doing this entire fixer thing wrong. Didn't seem like Aiden needed the ego boost, though and Tighe only said, "Coke, fine."

Up close, most of Aiden's interior decoration revealed a thin sheen of dust, disturbed here and there when Aiden pulled out a record or book. The huge couch was home to more random paper and discarded pieces of clothes, the table in front of it occupied by empty takeout carton, chips bags and empty cans. Tighe even spotted a gun magazine under a pile, just as carelessly thrown away.

Tighe wandered back to the bookshelf, glanced over the titles. He said, "I knew you were a bookworm, but you need to go out more."

He laughed quietly at his own joke and snatched a book from the shelf. He took it with him back to the couch, where he dropped down gracelessly, swivelled and hung his legs over the back as he opened the book.

Aiden glanced over his shoulder, past the edge of the fridge. He found the two last cans of coke and carried them back to the couch, dangling one over Tighe's head.

"I probably see more action than you," Aiden chuckled. "Better than Takisha, too, she grows a manlier beard than you do."

Tighe narrowed his eyes, but then grinned anyway as he reached for the can. "She really does."

Aiden wandered past him and perched himself cross-legged in the low armchair to the side of him. The coke hissed as he opened it, spilled some foam down to the ground in front of him.

Tighe flipped through the book at random, then returned to the first page. After a moment, he started to chuckle, he really didn't have a choice on the matter.

"Oh come on," he remarked. _"It's not like I'm using,"_ he read. _"It's like my body's developed this massive drug deficiency."_

He dropped his head over the edge of the couch, upside down, he stared up at Aiden. "Are you giving me hints here?"

Aiden nodded earnestly, "Yep, you caught me, all my books have that line in them. Just in case you ever come by to browse."

Tighe cast him a sharp look, as if he considered the viability of the confession, then pulled up his brows before he looked back at the book. He wanted to say _it's not something you can fix, like your other jobs._

"But for real," Aiden said, because he could never ever drop something. "You've got to clean up your act."

Tighe's expression darkened. _I'm not there for you to fix me._ It sat on his tongue and he could easily picture how the argument would play out. It wouldn't take long, Aiden's patience wasn't a reliable thing and he'd run out of it quickly.

Abruptly, Tighe slapped the book closed and dropped it to the floor as he swivelled back around and sat up straight for a moment. Asking Aiden for help was a mistake, it had _always_ been a mistake, even years ago in the Dead Men Walking. Aiden fixed things by making everything worse for everyone else.

"You aren't my mother," Tighe snapped, which was probably not a very good argument, seeing as it was somewhat self-evident. But maybe mentioning mothers got Aiden to back off, he wasn't on very good terms with his own, after all.

Tighe started crossing his arms over his chest, realised he was still holding the coke and loosened his arms again, leaned back into the couch and glowered at Aiden.

"No, but I'm a friend," Aiden insisted. "You can always…"

Tighe could already sense the soppy declaration of friendship he was about to make, he didn't quite know what he thought of that, either, but then Aiden stopped himself. Tighe watched him clench his teeth tensely for just a second, then Aiden pulled a carefully neutral expression back over his face.

Aiden shrugged, "You know what? You're right. I'm not your mother, if you don't give a fuck, I don't either."

"Fuck you," Tighe snapped. "Thank you."

It was a tense silence that followed, both of them sullenly sucking on their cokes, waiting for the edge to wear off.

"So, uh," Tighe finally said. "Are you going to have a party?"

He'd said it only because the silence was uncomfortable, pulling loose the strands of his already frayed nerves, fending off the prickling absence crawling through his body. He could hold out a day, he thought, he could probably even act his way through it to keep Aiden from nagging more, but he'd rather he didn't have to.

"Birthday party?" Aiden asked, seemed momentarily dumbfounded at the concept.

"Yeah," Tighe looked around. "You've got the space for it."

"I don't have any plans," Aiden said slowly. Something thin and strained had come into his voice, like he didn't quite know which pitch to use to maintain the portrayal of laid-back carelessness.

"Well, I want an invitation," Tighe declared.

Aiden looked away, it was the gesture of someone looking around, sizing up the apartment for how it would accommodate the party, but his face remained a little too impassive.

"Sure," he said then, took a sip from the coke. "But I don't think there'll be a party."

Tighe wondered about that, maybe Aiden's new fixer friends weren't the partying type. Or perhaps they just weren't the kind of people you wanted to celebrate with. Tighe didn't know. His experience with fixers was limited. He knew sometimes they got hired by the upper members of the gangs, to handle a problem that required a more delicate touch, or didn't need to have their name attached to it. They seemed like dangerous people to Tighe. The gangs were, too, of course, but he'd grown up with their threats and ran with them. Fixers had always seemed like people who'd given up even the semblance of loyalty.

And that was Aiden, too, all the way. He couldn't get out of Bridgeport fast enough, couldn't leave the Dead Men Walking fast enough. Aiden wanted the fast cars and the stylish apartment. He wanted the respect, too, and the reputation. Aiden probably thought he cared about the friends and family he left by the wayside, but Tighe at least had never actually seen any evidence for it.

Still, he'd called Aiden when he realised the shit he was in with the money, because Aiden was the only one with a handle on these sorts of things. You'd have to wonder what that did to a guy, to be only called because he was useful, even by his oldest friend.

Tighe caught himself rubbing his temple, fending off the encroaching exhaustion, cleared his throat and took another gulp of the coke, but his throat remained parched.

Someone knocked on the door.

The significance took a little while to work through Tighe's mind. The first thing he noticed was Aiden snapping his head up and then going perfectly still, gaze shooting over Tighe's shoulder to fix on the door.

Tighe took a breath and opened his mouth to ask what was up, but Aiden shushed him sharply, but quietly and Tighe froze, eyes wide in confusion.

Tenderly, Aiden set the can down on the table and uncoiled from his seated position smoothly. He walked slowly to the door, setting each foot with care to avoid making a noise.

Things fell into place slowly. When they'd come, Aiden had needed a key to get in, the door of the apartment building wasn't open to strangers. But why the alarm? Couldn't it be just the guy from downstairs wanting to borrow milk or weed or something?

Tighe twisted around and watched Aiden advance on the door from the side, hesitate, then step in closer to peer through the peephole. It seemed he stood there forever, motionless.

"Aiden," Tighe said and at least it had the effect that he snapped his hand up and held it out toward's him to shut him up. Not a neighbour, Tighe concluded sourly.

Aiden stood up straight, look over his shoulder at Tighe. For the second that their gazes connected, Aiden seemed just as much at a loss as Tighe.

He mouthed, _"Shit."_

Tighe frowned and shrugged in confusion, shook his head.

Aiden turned back to the door, hesitated another second and something subtly changed in his posture as he reached for the door and finally pulled it open.

"What a surprise," Aiden drawled, belying the fact that, yes, it was a surprise and not a pleasant one.

Past Aiden, Tighe could make out the tall, broad shape of Drago even before Aiden drew back from the doorway to let him in. Cold sweat prickled down the back of Tighe's neck at the recognition and quite suddenly, he wished it was just another withdrawal symptom.

Drago was old, he had to be, because he'd been in charge of the Dead Men Walking for as long as Tighe could remember. He looked old, too, in a way. Weathered face and greying hair, but he was also big, it varied through the years, sometimes there was a lot of fat cushioning the muscles, but Drago always looked like he could punch a hole in a wall. Aiden wasn't small, but Drago dwarfed him.

Drago took several slow, measured steps into the room, glanced around and waited until Aiden had closed the door and circled back around to face him.

"I expected a call," Aiden said. "It's courtesy."

Drago pulled his thick brows up in what looked like mild surprise mixed with mild annoyance.

"Why drag this out for longer?" he asked. His gaze passed over Tighe and lingered pensively for a second before Drago returned it to Aiden.

"I had a chat with Takisha, she's a smart girl," he said. "Told me everything."

He looked at Tighe for another second. "You know, if it had just been you, I'd have let it go," he said and then finally fixed on Aiden so sharply, Tighe was surprised when Aiden didn't flinch.

"Tighe is… a harmless puppy," Drago continued. Tighe bristled at the description, but he wasn't dumb enough to start an argument with Drago over it.

"But you," Drago addressed Aiden. "Little Danny Boy, thinks he can play the big game, thinks he can dictate the terms, thinks he can waltz into _my_ territory like he owes it. Well… now we have a problem."

Tighe had seen Aiden face off against Dead Men members often enough, he'd had a reputation for stand-offishness and an uncanny knack for coming out on top. Aiden had never moved high enough to associate with Drago directly, the first time Drago had taken note of Aiden at all was when Aiden decided to call it quits and needed to negotiate his exit from the gang.

What Tighe had never seen was Aiden backing down.

"It doesn't have to be," Aiden said with a placating smile and spread out hands. "It was an accident, Tighe wanted to make it right, but didn't know how. I'm just the middle man."

Aiden drew back a step. "But I don't have to be involved if you don't want me to. I mean, Tighe can just give the money back. You said you were okay with him."

Drago tilted his head to the side, regarding Aiden in silence. He took a step toward him and extended his hand and when Aiden didn't draw away, Drago wrapped his hand around Aiden's throat. With just a slight push, he forced Aiden to take a step back and another, until Aiden bumped into the back of the couch by Tighe's side.

"But little Danny Boy _is_ involved," Drago said. His fingers looked relaxed around Aiden's throat, he wasn't squeezing at all. Tighe saw Aiden's face only in profile, head tilted back a little to accommodate Drago's grip and his expression unduly calm, but his eyes were opened just a little too wide.

"Drago, listen," Aiden said, sounding quieter and rougher than normal. "It's not personal. Tighe just didn't know what to do, I just…"

"You just wanted to get back at me," Drago said. "Show me how I can't touch you now. How you think we are equals now."

"Look," Aiden started. "I'm sorry, okay? I…"

Drago shut him up by tightening his grip. Tighe saw the muscles in his arm tense and Aiden twitched back a scant inch more, back bent slightly, but he wasn't trying to get out of the grip, he was submitting to it.

Tighe couldn't decide if he was just scared by Drago's mere presence or if Aiden's _reaction_ was the really frightening thing. What was Drago up to, anyway?

"Drago," Tighe said, realised his voice came out in a croak and cleared his throat. "Why don't I just take you to the money? You take it and we forget all about this?"

"In a minute," Drago said casually, never taking his gaze away from boring into Aiden's. "I have to teach little Danny Boy a lessen first."

He flexed his fingers against Aiden's skin in what seemed like anticipation.

Aiden mouthed, "Don't."

Drago didn't even deign to answer and for an agonisingly long moment nothing happened at all. Tighe didn't know what to do, if he should interfere, if that'd make things worse for him and Aiden, or if maybe Drago would just let them off after he'd given them a good scare or…

Aiden moved, Tighe saw it with a surreal sense of delay, when his mind played it back to him in slow motion. Aiden snapped his hand up, gripped Drago's wrist and twisted so hard and so fast, Drago failed to muster an immediate defence. He bent to the side with his arm, exposed his back and Aiden hacked his elbow down in the opening. Aiden slipped away from the restricting closeness of the couch, stepped past Drago in the time it took the old gang-banger to catch his bearing.

Without letting go of the arm, Aiden kicked out with one leg, into Drago's knee and held fast as the bigger man buckled under the blow. Drago growled, half anger, half surprise and shook free of his brief, stunned passivity to launch himself at Aiden with the full force of his weight.

Tighe lurched from his seat and stood behind the feeble barrier of the couch, watching Drago and Aiden tangle. It was messy, neither of them seemed to have time and inclination for finesse or technique. Aiden suffered a staggering head-but, blood bursting from his nose and he stumbled, Drago followed it up instantly by smashing his fist into the side of his face.

Tighe twitched into motion, tearing his gaze away from the two of them, searching the place for a weapon, or anything he could use as one and came up empty in the chaos of Aiden's apartment.

Rather than just be knocked around, Aiden managed to roll back to his feet, kicked out with a foot as he stood back up. He caught Drago's knee, made him lose his balance and hurt his hand by trying to catch the kick and turn it against Aiden.

Aiden scrambled forward, caught his fall on a kitchen chair, but took only a second to stabilise himself, then tightened his grip on the chair and whipped it up and around. It was a sweeping gesture, not fast enough to catch Drago unaware and he drew back from the blow and jumped in behind it with an agility he didn't look like he possessed.

Drago lunged for Aiden's head, got a handful of hair and tore at an ear, used the handle to try to crash Aiden down on the table. Instinctively, Aiden had snapped a hand up around Drago's wrist, but put all his strength into a blow into Drago's exposed side. Drago grasped, his grip loosened and Aiden twisted out of it, jabbed a knee up into Drago's groin and the gang leader doubled forward for just a second.

Aiden slipped past him, swiped a leg out and pulled Drago's feet away from under him. Drago gave a guttural cry as he whipped around after Aiden, who didn't stop to face him. Instead, Aiden raced through the apartment, past his desk where Drago was on him again, caught him by the collar and yanked him back sharply, he got Aiden's elbow in the face and reeled back again, but managed to trip Aiden, making him crash down by the side of his bed.

Tighe lost sight of them, though he was painfully aware of them in his periphery as he scrambled around the couch and picked up the chair Aiden had dropped before, rushing after them.

He was just in time to see the end. Drago had pulled Aiden up by a grip on his shirt, arm raised for another blow, but he'd gone very still with the arm raised, a gun pressed into the flesh of his cheek so hard Tighe felt his own teeth ache just looking at it.

Over Drago's bulk, Tighe had an almost unobstructed view of Aiden's blood-smeared face. His teeth were bared, eyes wide open and too green in his pale face.

Drago was breathing hard, his back raising and falling rapidly, obvious fury crashing against Aiden's sudden, sneering calmness until Drago seemed to regain some of his own composure.

"You wouldn't," Drago observed, quietly, voice rough from the fight.

The sinews on Aiden's neck strained and jumped as he swallowed, his nostrils flared like an angry animal's and he said, "Don't make me."

For a mad instant, Tighe was convinced the moment would snap, the precarious stalemate could only tip into one disaster or another. Tighe couldn't see Drago's face, but his view of Aiden's was clear and there was a sick desire burning there, belying his beseeching words.

Perhaps Drago saw it, too, he must have seen that look often enough, running a gang in Chicago for as long as he had. A small shudder ran over his shoulders, Tighe wasn't sure what it was at first, until a dry, gargling mirthless chuckle worked itself from Drago's throat. He gave Aiden a slight shove, not enough to make him pull the trigger and still make a point.

"Little Danny Boy," Drago chortled, shaking his head. He drew back slowly, sat back at his haunches than heaved himself back to his feet with considerable less grace than he'd displayed in the fight. "I'll not forget this."

"Good," Aiden croaked, still on the floor. "I don't want to do it again."

Drago shook his head and it seemed almost sad. He turned his head to the side and said, "Tighe."

Tighe flinched and realised he was still holding the chair. He set it down very gently, as if pretending he hadn't been about to crash it over Drago's back at all.

"Get me the money," Drago said. "And we're even."

Tighe hesitated, gaze skittering away uncertainly as Drago finally faced him fully. "It's… we'll have to drive," Tighe said.

Drago nodded, carefully set one foot in front of the other as he walked towards the door. Casually, he turned his head to the side and spat a gob of saliva and blood on the floor.

Tighe glanced back at Aiden, who had only pulled himself up on his elbows. His facial expression had lost its edge, now that Drago wasn't looking at him anymore. At Tighe's questioning look, Aiden only nodded and began heaving himself into a sitting position.

"Tighe," Drago said and Tighe snapped around. "Let's go."

Tighe hesitated another moment, still uncertain, but he felt the tension in the room slowly mellowing out. He turned and hurried after Drago, not wanting to push his luck any further today.

Behind him, Aiden deflated against the side of his bed, resting his throbbing head on the cool sheets, blood still running from his nose and soaking the bedding.

* * *

_"Aiden, are you alright?"_

"I'm fine, don't worry about it. What about Drago? Did you get him the money?"

_"Fuck, I thought he'd rip my head off! But he just took the bag and said THIS BETTER NOT HAPPEN AGAIN and drove off. I'm… not sure if it's a win, you know? But it's okay. I think. He's not going to kill me, anyway. I'm not so sure about you."_

"He won't come after me."

_"How do you know? I'm serious._ How _do you_ know _?"_

"Because it'll cost him and I'm not important. I wouldn't be surprised if he offered me a job in the future."

_"I would, but whatever. Uh, Aiden? I'm…"_

"What?"

_"I get that you're a fixer these days and, well, this whole shit is probably what you do everyday anyway and I'm… not sure if I can pay you."_

"For real, T? You actually think I'd charge you?"

_"I don't know, okay? I don't understand you. It was just a question. Forget it."_

"Actually, for the opportunity to hold a gun in Drago's face, I should be paying you."

_"Oh, well, consider it a freebie, then."_

"How gratuitous of you."

_"Yeah, I know. I'm amazing._ "

* * *

A little over a week later, Aiden sat at his couch table with a ball of shredded paper in front of him. Two more plastic bags sat on the floor beside him, waiting to be carefully pulled apart and reassembled. He'd spent most of the afternoon reconstructing the files painstakingly, one flimsy strand of paper after another. It was tedious and didn't seem to be yielding as much juicy information as he had hoped about the company whose trash he'd stolen them from.

He was starting to lose light and concentration as the afternoon dimmed. His mind growing sluggish, making it harder to focus on tiny snippets of black ink and minimally differing perforation on the edge of each sheet.

Groaning a little, he sat back, closed his eyes and flexed his shoulders back, took a moment to relax. He'd mostly recovered from the bruises he'd sustained in the brawl with Drago, but he still felt the odd twinge when he made the wrong move.

He'd had enough time to review his confrontation with Drago, analyse it to figure out the mistakes he'd made, but for once, he wasn't sure he wanted to learn anything. It wouldn't have been too hard to overcome Drago's distrust, all he'd have had to do was act submissive and use Drago's ego against him. Easy, textbook, Drago wasn't that complicated. But to make it work, Aiden would've had to commit to the act and he hadn't.

Part of him, Aiden realised, had been itching to get his hands on Drago for a long time, even if he wasn't even sure what specific transgression he wanted to punish Drago for.

The only question Aiden still hadn't looked at too closely, even now, was what he'd do if he ran into Drago again. Contrary to what he'd said to Tighe, he doubted Drago would hire him. The Dead Men would hire _fixers_ , of course, if the situation was messed up too badly to handle alone, but they wouldn't come to Aiden.

Taking a few more breaths, Aiden decided the question wasn't all that important. He didn't want to be moving in the same circles as the gangs anyway, plenty of much better work in the beginning IT boom.

He glanced across the room at the phone and the answering machine. It was set to silent, but its glowing number blinked insistently. Something he'd need to take care of, especially if some of these calls turned out to be from Nicky.

The doorbell rang, saved him from that particular line of thinking and he bounced up and across the room. His foot prickled a little after his prolonged crouched position and he stamped it irritably on the way to the door.

Tighe announced himself cheerfully through the intercom. Aiden buzzed him in and considered hiding the shredded paper, but he wasn't going to waste all his hard work and Tighe wouldn't care.

A moment later, Tighe knocked on the door and Aiden let him in.

Grinning widely, Tighe wrapped a somewhat baffled Aiden into a tight hug.

"Happy birthday!" Tighe announced when he let him go. He looked past Aiden and pulled a slightly disapproving face.

"You really weren't kidding," he observed. "No party."

Aiden shrugged. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

Tighe slapped his back, much harder than his scrawny body should've allowed.

"Fuck that," he declared. "We're having a party. You, me and some of your _actual_ friends."

Not giving Aiden any time to process the turn of event. Tighe looked around, found Aiden's jacket and picked it up.

"And you're going to enjoy yourself," Tighe declared. "Man, you live fucking downtown and you're wasting it."

"I'm… " Aiden started, found himself frowning, voice tapering off as he realised what he was saying. "… working."

"Yeah, no, you're not, not today babe, you can thank me when you're sober again. So, sometime next week."

Tighe looked Aiden over, skeptically, quirked an eyebrow up and seemed to just give up on that part. He cast another searching look around the room, found what he was looking for and picked up the closest pair of boots he could find. He shoved them into Aiden's lax hands, on top of the jacket he'd already deposited there.

Aiden opened his mouth. He didn't think he was going to object, but Tighe just gripped his elbow and dragged him through the door.

"Let's rock this town," Tighe declared.

It was hard to resist Tighe's good mood, even if Aiden had his suspicions about it, but he'd spent the entire day focussing on a dull, self-appointed goal he barely managed to care about. And there was some truth to what Tighe had said, too. He'd moved to the heart of Chicago, but he wasn't enjoying it as much as he should.

Finding himself grinning, Aiden just about remembered to snatch his keys from the cabinet by the door in the second before Tighe slammed the door shut.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Reference:** Tighe is reading from William Gibson's Neuromancer.
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Revised on 29/Nov/2016 and 10/May/2017**


End file.
